Nobody's home

Scream your pain away, little one, but expect no one to hear you. 

Nobody's home, it's a land of ghosts, and you're on your own. 

It's okay if you're not patient, time will teach you, the void too. 

Talk to yourself in your head, utter out some words, make perfect sense, or make no sense at all, it won't matter. You're on your own little one, no humans in sight, humanness has long started to fade away, only the bodies are left now, and they're quite so loud! Pay no heed to the noise, it's not for you, it's not about you, nobody's home. 

The echoes of some stories in your head, the remembrance of other stories, the faces, the voices, the sensations, the affection, the connection, they are all illusions, weep them away, you're awake now. 

Nobody's home, nobody was home. 

The teachers and the school and the neighbours and the cousins and the friends and the teachers and the parents and the kids and the nice ones and the mean ones and the family and the teachers and the cars and bicycles and the trips and the tents and the water and the sea and the beaches and the sand and the stones and the flowers and the trees and the greens and the teachers and earth and soil and dead bodies eaten away by worms and the bones, but the bones remain, as for the souls... nobody's home. 

Wipe away your tears, get up and go, work your hands away, weave things with strings and threads and color the path away with color coded beads and gems, and carve away your wounds on metals and woods, there is the illusion of a world, and you, and plenty of noise. Hear the loud noise of solitude, and the absolute silence of the most noisy lost souls.